


A Healer, First

by SusanaR



Series: Desperate Hours Alternative Universe G version (DH AU G) [62]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: BAMF Elrond, Brothers, Elrond the healer, F/M, Family, Family Drama, Father-Son Relationship, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Healers, Hurt Elrond, Hurt/Comfort, Male Friendship, Mentor Glorfindel, Mentor/Protégé, Plague, Post-War, Post-War of the Last Alliance, Protectiveness, Recovery, Third Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:42:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23323381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SusanaR/pseuds/SusanaR
Summary: Elrond Peredhel is a hero of three great wars and the leader of Imladris. Sometimes people forget that, of all his titles, the first one Elrond earned was ‘healer.’Now there is an outbreak of plague in the human villages along the River Celebrant. Elves cannot catch the plague; but part-elves can. Still, Elrond is a healer first.Sometimes, people forget that, even the people who know Elrond best.Ereinion Gil-Galad, who had nursed his peredhel cousin and heir through two different plagues, would not have forgotten. But he died in the final battle of the War of the Last Alliance.*This version of the story has no corporal punishment elements
Relationships: Celeborn/Galadriel | Artanis, Celebrían/Elrond Peredhel, Elrond Peredhel & Ereinion Gil-galad, Elrond Peredhel & Glorfindel, Glorfindel (Tolkien)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Desperate Hours Alternative Universe G version (DH AU G) [62]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/16409
Comments: 10
Kudos: 38





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Glorfindel wakes up to find his Lord missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: While I think that Hugo Weaving is a wonderful actor, my mental picture of Elrond is a little younger than movie Elrond (although Elrond in the action scenes in the Hobbit movies is closer than LOTR Trilogy Elrond). My mental image of Elrond is more like a young Adam Beach, in his role as Squanto in 1994's "Squanto: A Warrior's Tale," except with gray/blue eyes.

It is not that Glorfindel was unsympathetic to Elrond’s desire to play the healer. But to him, it was clear. Elrond was susceptible to human diseases; Elrond should therefore stay away from deadly ones. 

Those who came to Imladris for healing rarely came afflicted by a novel pestilence. When they did, other healers saw them first, and Elrond diagnosed them second-hand until his fellow healers were satisfied that their Lord was not at risk. 

Celeborn and Galadriel had already spoken with Elrond about which healers should be sent to aid the plague-stricken villages. Elrond’s name had not been on that list. Elrond had shown no vitriol over the issue. Usually, in Lothlorien, the Lord of Imladris wished little more than to spend his time with his secret-wife Celebrian, and with her parents who already cherished him as a son. 

True, the matter of whether Elrond and Celebrian should now be wed in the eyes of the world was dividing them. Sauron had been defeated in the War of the Last Alliance, and so Celebrian thought it was time. Her parents agreed. Elrond, who had been with Isildur when the One Ring first began to work his madness upon him, did not believe his wife would be safe. Glorfindel had abandoned his beloved young lord, and taken Celebrian’s side in the argument. 

Celebrian’s newly adopted elfling brothers, Haldir, Orophin, and Rumil, were unaware of the secret marriage. They were also uninformed as to the specific visions and past events which had led Elrond and their sister to fear for Celebrian’s future and that of their children after she became Elrond’s wife. From the three young brothers’ perspective, Elrond was causing Celebrian heart-ache and tears for no reason. 

With all of that going on, Glorfindel had forgotten that Elrond was a healer, first. He had forgotten that Elrond was apt to act first when he thought he’d be denied permission to do something he felt needful. 

Ereinion Gil-Galad, who had nursed his peredhel cousin and heir through two different plagues, would not have forgotten. But he died in the final battle of the War of the Last Alliance. Glorfindel, on the other hand, was blind-sided by the events which followed. 

The reborn Balrog-slayer had taken advantage of the relative safety of Lothlorien and Elrond’s preoccupation with Celebrian, and had enjoyed a rousing good time with his old friend Sendoron.  
He had not expected to awaken dazedly a whole day and a half later in a guest talan on the edge of Caras Galadhon. Glorfindel was accustomed to awaking all at once, save on those rare occasions when he had made too much merry the night before. But usually, on those mornings, there was a fondly amused Elrond to revive him with a soothing draught for his head. 

This time, there was no Elrond. And Glorfindel could not remember having consumed that much wine the previous night. And he did remember that he had been supposed to leave with Elrond in the morning, to visit several human villages further up the River Celebrant. 

They weren't the villages which Elrond had WANTED to visit. No, those were by the great river Anduin on the other side of Lothlorien's capital. And Glorfindel's lord had been directed not to go there, for the same reason that Elrond desired to go and help. There had been an outbreak of plague, and though Lothlorien had sent healers, they could not send the visiting Elrond. For Elrond's father had been half-human, and his mother had been part-human, as well. Plagues and certain other virulent diseases were dangerous to Elrond, and Elrond knew that. Curse him, and his too-clever hide.

"Where am I?" Glorfindel directed in a dangerous growl, to the elleth who brought him breakfast.

"Why, in Caras Galadhon, Lord Glorfindel. How was your dream-quest?" She answered, seeming only a little bit intimidated by his behavior. From her thoughts, Glorfindel gathered a faint impression of Elrond explaining helpfully to her that Glorfindel only seldom undertook to see prophetic visions in his dreams with aid of sedatives and hallucinogens, but that when he did he always awoke in a horrible mood.

'Elrond,' Glorfindel promised to himself, 'I am going to kill you.'

Aloud, he answered the elleth, who was innocent in this whole matter. "It was . . . fine. Did my Lord leave anything for me? A note?" Or perhaps his last will and testament, Glorfindel wondered darkly.

"Oh, yes. Here you are." 

Glorfindel carefully unrolled the piece of parchment, eating a sausage roll as he did so. It was going to be a long day, he could already tell, and a warrior ate when he could. He also knew that Elrond was awake, aware, less than a day's ride away, too busy to talk, and in no pressing danger. All of that Glorfindel could tell from the link between them, the bonds of affection which had grown up between the two powerful elves over nearly two thousand years spent together.

Elrond's note was simple and to the point, and Glorfindel really was going to kill him later. Or at least make sure that the Peredhel wished he was dead. "I am sorry, my most faithful Glorfindel," it read, "I am sure that you know where I am."

Half an hour later, Glorfindel was in the royal family's stables, organizing an 'additional escort' for Elrond's unauthorized trip.

"And he told all of you what, that you simply watched him traipse off without me?" Glorfindel barked at Brombellas, the appointed leader of Celeborn's household guards.

"He said that you had received an urgent message from Lord Erestor, some family matter. And that you had left to take word to Lord Arandil," Brombellas explained, while he sorted out which guards were to accompany Glorfindel and which to join the warriors of King Amroth's guard, as planned, on a trip to examine defenses on the outer edge of the forest.

Glorfindel just growled. It was a plausible excuse. The villages by the Celebrant were peaceful, they had treaties with both Lothlorien and Nimrodel's settlement. There was no need to expect trouble. If Erestor HAD sent Elrond an urgent message for Erestor's father Arandil, and if it had been a missive too sensitive or personal for other eyes, Glorfindel might have taken its delivery upon himself, after consultation with Elrond, and then entrusted Elrond's other guards with his Lord's keeping. Well, after having a word with Celeborn and Galadriel, that is. 

"Your anger serves us no purpose, Glorfindel," Lord Celeborn reminded the Balrog-Slayer quietly, as he and his older children joined the group. Out of the corner of his eye, Glorfindel saw Haldir, who was to accompany the expedition (although as Celeborn's adopted son rather than as a junior soldier). 

Haldir nodded to Glorfindel in wary respect, then went to young Aran Amroth's side. It was Celebrian who caught Glorfindel's attention, shining in a white dress much like her mother's. Celebrian and Orophin were staying in Caras Galadhon, Celebrian to assist her mother as temporary regent, but they had come to say farewell.

"Just take care of Elrond for me, please," Celebrian pleaded. 

Glorfindel found himself humbled by her desperate concern. "I will, my Lady," he promised, before turning back to Brombellas, "I don't suppose that any of you bright lamps noted what direction Lord Elrond's group actually took, when they left the wood? There are three different villages they might have headed to, and knowing what path they took could save us time." 

Brombellas sighed, and none of the other soldiers spoke up either. Glorfindel glared at them. Fortunately for Brombellas and his fellows, an answer to Glorfindel's question came from an unexpected quarter.

"North and West, Heru Laurefindil," young Lord Orophin supplied. "They left by the path nearest the Ring of Melbrethil."

Celeborn turned to look at his teenaged son with a narrowed gaze of his own. Glorfindel, for his part, was too focused on his mission to care what prank or mischief Orophin had probably had in mind, to have been watching Elrond leave. He was too intent on following Elrond as quickly as possible to even upbraid Orophin for using his Quenya name and title again. 

Glorfindel preferred his name as spoken in Sindarin, and had since first arriving in Beleriand. Either way, his name essentially meant, "Goldilocks," not the most masculine of names. The Vanya owned the name though. Slay just one balrog, and suddenly "Goldilocks" became a name famous for strength and military prowess. As a young elf of about Haldir's age, however, Glorfindel had been very sensitive about his name. 

He had spent years challenging those elves who had mocked him for his pretty hair and eyes and slender build to duel him on the practice courts. Even after he had proven himself to his Prince and his friends, around the time they had crossed the great ice and arrived in Beleriand, "Glorfindel" had just sounded a bit more masculine than Laurefindel. On top of that, his new wife's name was Laureamoriel. Her nickname had been Laurea to his nickname of Laure, so a name change for one of them had been most convenient. And he'd loved her musical name, and the way her dark eyes lit with joy when he spoke it.

Most elves had no trouble remembering what Glorfindel preferred to be called, especially once Glorfindel had reminded them himself. But Orophin lived in the same household as some of the elves who had belonged to Galadriel's original household from Tirion in Aman. They had known Glorfindel since he was a difficult adolescent. And some of them still consistently 'forgot' that he preferred to be called "Glorfindel" rather than "Laurefindel."

One of those other ancient elves was Captain Sendoron, a senior member of Galadriel and Celeborn's guard who had been 'on loan' to Elrond for the past several years. Sendoron was also one of Glorfindel's oldest friends. He had been like a bossy and most often disapproving elder brother to the light-hearted Glorfindel (then Laurefindel) in their long-ago days in Tirion, when they had both been King Turgon's (then Prince Turucano's) personal guards and friends. Yet for the past few years, he had been under Glorfindel's command. Sendoron had handled that fairly well, but just now his smirk was a bit hard for Glorfindel to ignore.

"What?" He snapped in irritation as they moved swiftly through Caras Galadhon, following the trail that Elrond had taken two days hence.

"Oh, nothing," Sendoron replied neutrally, his dark eyes just watching Glorfindel.

"I will make you suffer, Sendron. Blood-brother or not, I swear that I will make you regret this moment of levity."

Sendoron chuckled, and Glorfindel blinked at him. Sendoron was by nature quite a dour elf, so to hear him laugh at all was quite something. Release of tension, perhaps. Glorfindel didn't doubt that Sendoron would lay down his life to protect Elrond, because Elrond was their King Turgon's great-grandson. And because Elrond mattered to Glorfindel. Sendoron was always respectful to the Lord of Imladris. More, he had been willing to support Elrond, had Elrond chosen to assert his right as High King of the Noldor remaining in Middle Earth. 

But Glorfindel had never too closely asked what Sendoron thought of Elrond’s Sindarin ancestry, let alone the whole 'part-human' thing. Glorfindel didn't think that he'd like the answer. Over four thousand some years, Sendoron and Celeborn's Sindarin household had reached a sort of detente, but Sendoron still felt that the elves of Doriath, and even more the Laiquendi or Nandor, the sylvan elves who had always lived in the woods and never formed their own Kingdom, were inferior to he and the other Noldor who had come over from Aman. That an elf whom Glorfindel loved as a brother could have such unfair prejudices upset the reborn elf deeply, but loving someone didn't mean that you could change them. And at least Sendoron was competent and loyal.

So Glorfindel merely asked again, a bit more politely, "What has you laughing, sourface?"

Sendoron just raised a superior eyebrow at him, and Glorfindel dropped the matter. He'd get even with Sendoron later, but there was no getting the older elf to talk if he didn't want to. Sendoron was irritatingly like Galadriel in that way.

Instead, Glorfindel thought of Elrond. How desperate his Lord must have been, to help the plague-stricken humans. Desperate indeed, for Elrond should well remember Glorfindel's fury, the last time that Elrond had done something like this. And it had been something very much like this, save that this time Erestor was not involved, and Elrond did not actually know that this was a trap. He'd better not, at least.

Glorfindel fumed and worried all the more. Maybe their Enemy Sauron - or whatever was left of him- or some other enemy that Elrond had made - maybe WHOEVER had PLANNED this. Purposely sent the plague to those villages, knowing that the Peredhel would come. Planned to get Elrond weak and distracted, and then attack him. Just like Annatar's - Sauron's- plot last time, not long after Glorfindel had first returned to Middle Earth. 

A plan that had only barely failed. The wood-cutter whose daughter Elrond had gone to heal had, out of gratitude, betrayed Sauron’s servants at the last minute to warn Elrond. Elrond had given himself up as a captive, to keep the woodcutter's family safe from Sauron's retribution while at the same time giving Erestor time to escape and plan an ambush to rescue them both. Elrond had been hit by a poisoned arrow during their escape, but had recognized the poison, and thankfully stayed conscious long enough to give Erestor directions in how to begin treatment of the wound.

Fortunately for Glorfindel's idiotic but noble young Lord and the long-suffering Erestor, the rest of Elrond's guards caught up with the two of them just in time to deter the pursuit and get Elrond back to Lindon and the healers at best speed. Of course, their fortuitous arrival was ABSOLUTELY NO THANKS TO ELROND, who had arranged to leave everyone except Erestor peacefully sedated at the Inn they'd stayed at the previous night. 

Elrond's excuse for leaving Glorfindel and his guards behind had been simple. Elrond had known, going into that situation, that it was a trap and that Glorfindel would not have permitted him to go. No more than would have Elrond's guards, who were under the orders of Elrond's cousin, Aran Ereinion. Elrond had been Aran Ereinion's heir. Heir to the King of the Noldor by blood, as the King's younger cousin. Elrond had also been Ereinion's foster-brother, and the King loved the Peredhel like a brother. Given that, Ereinion's standards for Elrond's safety had been closer to Glorfindel's than Elrond's. Glorfindel missed Ereinion, and Elrond might not claim his right, but Glorfindel was not about to lose another King, crowned or not, to his own foolishness.

"The elfling," Sendoron supplied, pulling Glorfindel's attention temporarily away from his churning anxiety over Elrond.

"Who, Elrond?" Glorfindel asked disapprovingly. Elrond might be in for more than a small amount of Balrog-Slayer and familial disapproval, but that didn't justify referring to him as a child. Only Glorfindel got to do that. Well, and Cirdan. And maybe Celeborn. Maybe. 

"No. My Lady's son. Orophin," Sendoron replied, still amused, although Glorfindel didn't think one other elf out of a thousand would have noticed.

Glorfindel's blue eyes flickered to his friend, "What about him?"

Sendoron's lips quirked into a more visible smile, "If Rumil mixes up your rank or title, it’s an honest mistake. If Haldir does so, it’s because he still has moments when he can't believe that he gets to associate with such 'legendary warriors.' If Orophin mixes up your name and title, it’s because he's purposely trying to piss you off."

And in such a way that Glorfindel would have looked a right fool upbraiding the adolescent elfling in public, just for calling him by his proper title in a different language. Glorfindel shook his head, "What a . . . clever . . . elfling. I'll have a word with him later." A persuasive word, but a carefully measured one. 

Several years ago, Glorfindel had caught Rumil dumping a bucket full of pond scum into Elrond's good riding boots. Orophin had been in suspiciously close proximity, just down the hall. Orophin had claimed that it was all his idea, and then snapped at his baby brother a couple of times when Rumil offered further explanation. Glorfindel had set them both to mucking the stable out for it. He’d lectured them too, and Orophin more sternly because he was older and had been less repentant. 

Later that evening, Rumil had confessed to Celeborn that Orophin had, in fact, had nothing to do with the prank except to have been walking in the wrong place at the wrong time. Well, that and deciding to lie to Glorfindel because, at the time, Orophin hadn't wanted to leave Rumil alone to the Balrog-slayer's mercies. Up until that point, Glorfindel hadn't had much to do with Galadriel and Celeborn's younger adopted sons (besides marveling at the idea of Galadriel volunteering to have three elflings in her house, and occasionally frowning menacingly at said elflings for their sporadic campaign against all things Elrond). 

Afterward, Glorfindel had made an effort to get to know them during Elrond's visits to Lorien. He liked elflings and children, and didn't want Elrond's future wife's adoptive brothers, in particular, to be afraid of him. 

On top of that, Celeborn was still a bit annoyed with Glorfindel for punishing Orophin unfairly. Glorfindel had been quite careful to pay careful attention to what Orophin was actually thinking as well as saying, even though he didn't doubt that, in this instance, Sendoron was telling him the truth.

Glorfindel gave Sendoron a careful look, "I had not expected you to be so . . . sanguine, about Orophin and his brothers. Or rather about your Lady's and Lord Celeborn's decision to adopt them." Given Sendoron's long-held prejudice against the Nandor, the elves of the wood, and given that Haldir, Orophin, and Rumil were about as Nandorin as one could get. Their parents were both from little known villages, some of which had been settled even before the breaking of Beleriand. Glorfindel knew that many other elves, less prejudiced than Sendoron, were still unhappy about the Lord and Lady's decision. Lord Celeborn, Aran Amroth's uncle, was the King's heir. Celebrian was second-in-line to the throne of Lothlorien. And, since the adoption, Haldir was fourth, he and his brothers displacing Elrond. Elrond didn't mind; many others did.

Sendoron smiled back at Glorfindel, a mere suggestion of a quirk of his lips. "Spend more time with my Lady's sons. Time off of the practice courts. You'll come to understand why I am so 'sanguine,' little brother. After all, you are not as empty-headed as you look." 

Sendoron was disinclined to explain further, but the ensuing argument did have the benefit of distracting Glorfindel from stewing about Elrond's predicament any further before they reached the village and he could do something about it.

A lookout ahead signaled their approach to the village, and Glorfindel pulled his mind away from Galadriel and Celeborn's sons - who were NOT Glorfindel's problem - and back to Elrond, who most assuredly was.

The village itself had excellent defensive fortifications, for its size. Under normal circumstances, Glorfindel would have approved. He might have even searched out the head of the town militia, and talked shop. But not today. Today, instead of men on watch, the village had flags warning of plague flying from the blockade towers on the stockade.

Their party slowed, the elves' mood growing grave as they entered this place, a vibrant settlement which death had touched so cruelly. None of them were susceptible to the ravages of disease, at least not after they left their elfling years, but still they felt the sorrow of the tragedy which had occurred, was occurring, here.

At the gate there was a man, dressed only in leggings and an open smock. "We're sick here, my Lords. You can't come in without risking death."

Glorfindel nodded gravely to the townsman, explaining that they were elves, and here to aid the healers. In little time at all, he found himself directed to several low buildings which had been set aside for the care of the stricken. In the center of activity, Glorfindel found what - or rather, who - he was looking for.

His Prince Earendil's dark-haired son, standing in the middle of a knot of healers. Lord Elrond said something firm, and inspiring, and the healers broke off in different directions with new energy. Everywhere there were cots with suffering patients in various stages of the sickness, but it was orderly. Glorfindel later learned that one building was already reserved for those who had survived the contagion, and that fewer and fewer bodies were being taken away at the end of the day to be burned by the healthy and recovered.

Elrond himself knelt beside a little girl, and tenderly wiped a cool cloth over her head. 

"This medicine will make you feel a little nauseated, Merilwen,” he told her in a kind, reassuring tone, “You might feel a little sick to your stomach, and perhaps a bit dizzy. Like you're floating. But it will also bring down your fever."

"Yes, Healer," The little girl whispered hoarsely, "Thank you."

Glorfindel watched as one of the younger healers finished mixing the medicinal draught. Another healer called for aid before he could give it to Lord Elrond, so Glorfindel picked it up, and placed it into Lord Elrond's outreached hand. 

Their eyes met, just for a moment, Balrog-slayer and Healer-Lord. Elrond gave Glorfindel a half-smile, and then turned back to his patient. When she was settled, Elrond at last gave Glorfindel his full attention.

"I had wondered when you would show up, Vorondanya." Elrond said, a welcoming but worried look in his tired grey eyes, " We could use your steady hands and stout heart, my most faithful Glorfindel."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glorfindel and Elrond, in the plague stricken village.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: While I think that Hugo Weaving is a wonderful actor, my mental picture of Elrond is a little younger than movie Elrond (although Elrond in the action scenes in the Hobbit movies is closer than LOTR Trilogy Elrond). My mental image of Elrond is more like a young Adam Beach, in his role as Squanto in 1994's "Squanto: A Warrior's Tale," except with gray/blue eyes.

Glorfindel took a deep breath, a mix of emotions swirling in his heart. Anger and worry, affection and admiration. Something about Elrond when he was being so completely earnest and dedicated and sorrowful just drained away Glorfindel's anger, like pulling the plug out of the bottom of a barrel. 

The anger, the frustration, was still within Glorfindel somewhere, but right now . . . right now Glorfindel's priority was aiding his Lord. The little lord whom Glorfindel loved like another grandson. Of course, if Elrond hadn't already exposed himself to the disease a thousand times over, then Glorfindel's priority would be dragging Elrond away from here by his half-pointy ears. But Glorfindel knew when to accept that his hand was beat, when he'd lost a round. And Elrond had won. He'd won being permitted to fight the plague in this village with trickery and deception, but won it he had.

So Glorfindel just met Elrond's gray eyes steadily, and offered, "My hands and my heart are yours, Hir dithen nin. Always." Silently, Glorfindel spoke into Elrond's mind, *But I promise you that we are going to have a series of very long talks about some of your decisions, after you are done with your work here.*

Elrond nodded, grateful and rueful at the same time. Elrond, too, knew how to focus just on the problem at hand. And when he was playing healer, it was almost impossible to bring his attention to any other matter.

There was plenty a need that day, for Glorfindel's steady hands and strong heart. He needed his strong stomach, too. Elrond fought enemies which didn't have swords or shields. New patients came in. Some recovered, but others worsened. The first crisis with any patient was the fever, and Glorfindel helped to carry cold water and bathe strong men as well as little children, hoping to beat the fever.

"Oh good," said Elrond, when he realized that Glorfindel hadn't come alone, "You bought more guards. Have them bring us more water."

Glorfindel fought the urge to growl, but it wasn't as if they needed his escort and Elrond's to stand as guard. And the elves couldn't catch the illness. As day wore into night, many of the human healers fell ill, and the soldiers of Lothlorien and Imladris were drafted to aid those still standing.

"I've never seen a plague quite like it," Elrond whispered to Glorfindel as they bathed a stricken healer, "I think it’s spreading in the very air, as the sick cough and bleed."

The fever and the bloody cough weren't the only threats. Even after the fever broke, they still lost patients to dehydration and an extreme weakness. It was as if their very lungs were too tired to breathe. Glorfindel spooned broth and sweetened water into the mouths of those who could swallow, while Elrond rubbed eucalyptus oil on a sick man's chest. Glorfindel wrinkled his sensitive nose at the smell.

Elrond shrugged, his lips curving into faint, rueful smile. "It might not ease his breathing, but I don't think it can hurt."

At one point Elrond left the healing tents. It made Glorfindel hope that his young Lord was going to rest, without Glorfindel having to insist that he do so. But no, Elrond just went into an alchemist's shop, wherein Glorfindel found him and a younger elleth leaning over two vats. One of the vats smelled worse than any scent Glorfindel could remember inhaling, in either of his lives. The other smelled strongly of new leaves, but in comparison to the first, it was quite pleasant.

"WHAT is THAT?" Glorfindel demanded of the disgusting grey sludge in the first vat.

The young female healer, Colleryn, winced. Even Elrond looked a little green, a sight which Glorfindel had not seen since the aftermath of the last Battle of the Last Alliance, before the menace of Mount Doom itself.

"You don't want to know." Elrond answered Glorfindel, and the balrog-slayer believed him. 

But that didn't stop Glorfindel from helping Elrond and the other healers to administer the two medicines - for such they were - to all of Elrond's patients. Elrond had them give the disgusting medicine to half the patients, and the green smelling one to the others. Only those who seemed well on the way to recovery were spared the dosing. Glorfindel had learned that the latter concoction was made out of crushed seeds of the moringa tree mixed with honey, but none of the healers offered to explain the foul-smelling one. And Glorfindel didn't really want to know, so long as it wasn't Elrond drinking it.

Elrond stood as a maestro in the middle of chaos, a retaining wall against the tide of death that the plague had brought to the village. It made Glorfindel reflect that Elrond was good at many things; but he was one of the best healers Glorfindel had ever met. And Glorfindel knew from healers. 

Despite Elrond's efforts and those of his fellows, they still lost too many. Glorfindel estimated that all save perhaps five percent of the villagers had been stricken by the plague.

"Why do those villagers not fall ill?" He asked his lord, while forcing Elrond to take a break and drink some tea.

"Hmm. Hereditary immunity, of some kind, I think." Elrond answered absently, "From what we've been able to discern, their great-grandparents survived such a plague, when they lived in a village on the other side of the Anduin." Elrond looked up, offering Glorfindel another faint, rueful smile, "It is a similar immunity which shall save me from sickening, if I am lucky."

"You'd better be lucky." Glorfindel growled back, gently cuffing Elrond's dark head. 

Then they went back into the dying ground. It was...not as bad, Glorfindel thought, as war. But here it was women and children and even infants dying, and watching that tore Glorfindel's heart asunder. How much more must it affect Elrond, he wondered, but the healer-lord stayed on his feet, calmly going from patient to patient, and speaking softly with the other healers.

When Glorfindel dragged Elrond back outside for more tea and some roast rabbit which their guards had prepared, he looked carefully around, before asking Elrond, "The other elven healers? Is it just me, or were they better during the war?"

Sighing, Elrond replied, "It's not just you. They're better with elves. And most of these elven healers - they're relatively young. Lothlorien in particular lost a lot of healers during the war, when their lines were overwhelmed and their camp overrun. The orcs killed everyone they could find in that attack, even ellith who were clearly not soldiers. During the war, the humans had their own healers amongst the Numenoreans, whom I could rely upon to be experts in treating their own people. Some of the Lindon, Falas, and Imladris healers had acquired a fair amount of experience, by the end of the war. But they are mostly back in Lindon, the Havens, or Imladris."

Glorfindel frowned, "Wasn't young Ecthelion always tagging along with you, when you went to aid the humans in Elendil's camps?"

"Towards the end of the War, yes." Elrond agreed, with a faint, fond smile. "It would be good if he could be here now, but the distance is great enough that we've not sent to Thranduil in the Greenwood for healers. By the time that they would arrive, the crisis will have passed."

Glorfindel murmured something non-committal in response, trusting in Elrond's judgment on the matter. It was a pity, though. The Balrog-Slayer could remember many nights during the last siege of Dagorlad, when hope had seemed faint and the very air repressive. Glorfindel had returned to Elrond's tent to find his Lord actually relaxing, sitting on his cot reading some scroll or another, with the young healer Theli asleep at Elrond's feet, his head in Elrond's lap.

Glorfindel had liked the young Greenwood healer who had worked so hard at learning to fight as well as to heal. He knew that Celeborn and Galadriel did their best to be fond of Theli because of his cousins who were their adopted sons, but Glorfindel, for his part, liked Haldir, Orophin, and Rumil the better for their being related to Theli. 

The Balrog-Slayer had watched Theli argue with Lord Elrond himself in the healing tents, on the rare occasions when Theli thought that Elrond was wrong about the best course of treatment for a patient. But Theli could also watch Lord Elrond treat someone for a malady just once, and then manage to take care of the same injury or illness on his own after that. The last trait had made Theli invaluable to Lord Elrond, even though Elrond had scolded Theli several times himself, for trying something which might not have worked, or which had worked, but for the wrong reasons. Glorfindel would give a lot to have Theli here now, though. As it was, Elrond had to keep redirecting the course of treatment as the disease changed, and endlessly re-instructing the other healers. Theli had Elrond's 'feel' for that type of thing, and wouldn't need so much directing.

"I would be grateful for his aid, now." Elrond said, apparently following Glorfindel's train of thought, "Him, or any Master Healer. Even Moicasion." Who was the master healer of Imladris, since Elrond had recognized with regret that he could not serve both as Lord and chief Master Healer. Moicasion was also Elrond's friendly nemesis, for reasons which pre-dated Glorfindel's return to Middle Earth, and which the Balrog-slayer had never fully understood.

"Although, Theli would have a hard time with this," Elrond continued, “we cannot help but lose some to death, with a plague. During the war, Ecthelion would grieve a patient's loss to the extent that it would cause him to do himself harm, and I would have to scold him and set him to exhausting chores in order to stop him from blaming himself, or risking himself for naught."

"Hmm," Glorfindel said, with a wry grin, "Perhaps a similar tactic would be effective with a certain healer I know..."

"Haha," Elrond replied dryly.

Glorfindel grinned again, then began to glare at Elrond. He'd meant to wait until after his Lord was finished serving as healer, but he couldn't hold the words back any longer, “Elrond, I thought that you had sworn a vow to Ereinion Gil-Galad, that you would never again serve as healer during a deadly disease outbreak amongst your second-born kin. Not unless at least two other healers in addition to yourself agreed it was a sickness you had already developed an immunity to. Which the Lothlorien healers clearly said you had not, in the case of this plague!” 

“I did, my faithful friend,” Elrond agreed, with a haunted smile, “And I kept that vow. Even though I took it only under duress. My elder-heart brother was so insistent that I not risk dying of an illness again, that he promised me that he would sail and leave me alone to be King of the Noldor on Middle Earth, if I did not keep my word to him on the matter. However,” Elrond continued in a broken voice, “Ereinion is no longer here. He died, even though I abided by his terms, and left to me the care of his people.” 

“Ai, Elrond,” Glorfindel said sadly, his anger once again gone. 

“I know we have often spoken of this before,” Elrond continued, “But I hope he would feel his trust well-placed. It is a self-government council in Lindon, with me as absentee overlord, instead of me as High King . . . but . . . I think it is best, and safer, for the Lindon that is left.” 

“My very dear Lord, you have done well,” Glorfindel assured him, placing a firm hand on Elrond’s right shoulder, “Lindon’s elves will not fight another war. They haven’t the will for it. You have – by nature and will – made yourself one of the ringleaders of the Light, whenever Sauron does re-gather himself to menace all of Middle Earth again.” 

“Long may it be, until that day.” 

“Yes,” Glorfindel agreed. 

“In the meantime, I have another foe to fight,” Elrond said, gathering himself to return to his patients. 

“Not yet, my young one,” Glorfindel counseled him sternly, “Not until you’ve eaten more of your dinner and finished your tea.” 

Elrond wrinkled his nose as he considered his plate, then looked up again at Glorfindel in mute appeal. 

“Ten bites,” Glorfindel amended, drawing on the patience he’d developed as Glorendil’s father. 

Fortunately, Glorfindel’s dear young lord was in most ways not as challenging a charge as Glorfindel’s difficult, darling only child. Glorendil would have immediately, reflexively countered with ‘three bites,’ even if he was planning to eat eleven! 

Elrond, on the other hand, obeyed the gentle order mutely. As he did so his barriers slipped and revealed his exhaustion, which woke again Glorfindel’s fury over Elrond’s manner of coming to this place. 

“Elrond, your vow to Ereinion aside – and I miss him too - I thought that you had promised to me, the last time you drugged me and the rest of your guard in Lindon, not to ever do it again."

"No, Vorondanya," Elrond corrected, his tone polite and his demeanor humble, as if he were trying to defuse Glorfindel's infamous temper with uncharacteristic meekness, "You see, it was Erestor who promised you that. By the time that I had recovered from being poisoned, no one thought to ask me for such a promise."

Glorfindel didn't even know what to say in response to that extremely specious argument.

Still facing Glorfindel's glare, Elrond continued in a conciliatory manner, "I know that I have treated you badly. And for that I am so terribly sorry. I..." 

And whatever Elrond was going to say next was cut off by the young elven Healer Belegur, who apparently couldn't go even half an hour without begging the great Lord Elrond's opinion on something. 

Glorfindel growled, but followed them back to the tents. 

The hours passed, seeming to both fly and crawl. Until Elrond faltered, and almost fell, and Glorfindel could tell from the expressions on the other healers' faces that it was more than a moment of weakness. 

Glorfindel picked his young Lord up, cradling Elrond in his arms as he carried the Peredhel to an empty cot. Glorfindel's own heart raced with fear and worry.

"I'd hoped to get through the night, before I fell ill in truth," Elrond murmured, dazed but still determined.

"Elrond, I really am going to kill you," Glorfindel snapped back.

Elrond just laughed weakly. Belegur and two other healers, one elven and one a recovered man, then surrounded Elrond, and Glorfindel was gently but inexorably pushed away.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrond falls sick with the plague himself. Glorfindel spends one of the longest nights of his life at his Lord’s bedside. A surprise visitor aids him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: While I think that Hugo Weaving is a wonderful actor, my mental picture of Elrond is a little younger than movie Elrond (although Elrond in the action scenes in the Hobbit movies is closer than LOTR Trilogy Elrond). My mental image of Elrond is more like a young Adam Beach, in his role as Squanto in 1994's "Squanto: A Warrior's Tale," except with gray/blue eyes. 
> 
> Quote(s): 
> 
> ‘[A healer] must go where [his] heart takes [him], even if it's a messy road.’ - Ha Myung-hee 
> 
> "One need not be a chamber to be haunted, one need not to be a house. The brain has corridors surpassing material place." - Emily Dickinson
> 
> “Not leaving: [defined as] an act of trust and love, often deciphered by children.” ― Markus Zusak 
> 
> Excerpt from end of Chapter 2: 
> 
> The hours passed, seeming to both fly and crawl. Until Elrond faltered, and almost fell, and Glorfindel could tell from the expressions on the other healers' faces that it was more than a moment of weakness. 
> 
> Glorfindel picked his young Lord up, cradling Elrond in his arms as he carried the Peredhel to an empty cot. Glorfindel's own heart raced with fear and worry.
> 
> "I'd hoped to get through the night, before I fell ill in truth," Elrond murmured, dazed but still determined.
> 
> "Elrond, I really am going to kill you," Glorfindel snapped back.
> 
> Elrond just laughed weakly. Belegur and two other healers, one elven and one a recovered man, then surrounded Elrond, and Glorfindel was gently but inexorably pushed away.

Glorfindel came to treasure Elrond’s weak laugh, that one small moment of levity, because for many hours after that, Elrond was too sick to laugh. 

It was awful, the same actions but just terrible, to go through the motions of fighting the fever with Elrond. Glorfindel didn't leave his Lord for a moment, and he cared for Elrond himself as much as he was able. He watched grimly as the healers gave his young Lord medicines, even the disgusting one. 

Glorfindel thought about demanding to know what was in it, but he'd seen for himself that it was working, so he let it go. Young healer Belegur proved to be an invaluable source of information about what fever-reducing herbs would work for Elrond and which might make him sick, and Glorfindel was grateful.

"Master Healer Moicasion asked our Master Healer to send one of us with all of the notes on Lord Elrond's medical history," Belegur explained. "I'd hoped to never need it, but..."

"You're doing well," Glorfindel praised the young healer, and meant it.

The crisis of the fever came and passed. Elrond was still weak and unresponsive, but he felt blessedly cool to Glorfindel's touch, and his lungs were clear of fluid.

"You can take him somewhere quieter now," Healer Belegur offered, "I wouldn't let you earlier because I needed to check on him all the time. But now he will live or die on his own, and there's naught more we can do. Keep offering him fluids when he wakes enough, and let me know if the fever returns. Or if he gets worse."

Glorfindel settled his Lord in one of the finer rooms of the near-vacant inn, and took up his post in a chair by Elrond's side. He talked his young Peredhel friend through strange dreams and nightmares, rejoicing because the healers had told him that would be a positive sign. But some of the dreams . . . Ai, poor Elrond.

"Atto?" Elrond gasped at one point, mistaking the blond, blue-eyed Glorfindel for the peredhel's own father Earendil the mariner, who had likewise been blond of hair and blue of eye.

Glorfindel knew that it was best not to upset a patient beset by such dreams, so he just clasped Elrond's hand within his own, and answered, "I am here, yonya." Glorfindel tried to hide his own surprise at Elrond's having brought up his father, unlikely though it was that Elrond would notice, or even remember the moment later. Elrond never brought up his father, save in the context of Earendil having been a key figure in the history of Middle Earth.

"You left, Atto!" Elrond said, blinking tears away, "You left, and THEY came. One . . . one of them . . . Maglor son of Feanor, he took us, saved us, and I always thought that you and Nana would hate us for going with him . . . we should not have, but we were so hungry..."

"Shh, shh, ion-muin-nin," Glorfindel soothed his dear young Lord, "I am simply glad that you and Elros survived, no matter how. I could never blame you for that." 

Glorfindel pulled the sobbing Elrond into his lap, and cradled him gently. Knowing Elrond as he did, Glorfindel spoke the words that he knew Elrond needed to hear, "I love you, ion-nin. Never doubt that I love you, and that I am proud of you. Your mother and I miss you every hour of every day, and will until the day when you join us. But we do not wish you to hasten that day through death or carelessness."

Elrond cried, tears of pain and relief and joy. He still dreamed, he did not wake, and Glorfindel hoped that it might have helped. Glorfindel had loved Earendil since Earendil's babyhood, and had spoken often with the Mariner since his rebirth. Upon his return to Middle Earth, he had expected Elrond to ask after his parents, to want to hear the many words which they had given to Glorfindel to share with Elrond. But Elrond had not, did not, beyond merely inquiring as to whether his parents were well. It was one of the topics which struck too close to the tragedy which ended Elrond's childhood. Glorfindel's young Lord understood why it was that his father and mother had gone to the West, and had stayed there since. But he was their child, and they had owed him more, as parents. Heroes, Glorfindel knew from his own experience, did not always make the best of parents.

Glorfindel’s beloved charge slept fitfully for a time. His slumber seemed so light that the Balrog-Slayer was afraid to even get up and stir the fire or re-light the lamp for worry of waking him. 

By the time that Elrond woke again with shouts of mingled terror and grievous loss, all the lights in the room had gone out. 

“Ereinion! My brother! Thou art slain!” 

This heart-breaking terror Glorfindel had expected, had even thought about how best to soothe, “Ereinion is gone, yes, my Heart. But you are not alone,” he told Elrond, his voice husky with unshed tears of his own. 

“Arandilya?” Elrond asked hopefully. 

Oh. In the dark, Glorfindel must look as raven-haired as Elrond himself. So his young Lord was relying on his hearing. And Glorfindel, with his voice a little huskier, sounded like Arandil. Of course he did. That might even be for the best, because it had been Arandil, at the end of the War, who had been the most comforting to Elrond in the wake of losing his beloved King and foster-brother. 

“Yes, my Healing Heart,” Glorfindel answered, in Arandil’s similarly Gondolindhrim accented Sindarin as he enveloped in Elrond in one of Arandil’s unrestrained embraces, “I am here.”

“My older brother is gone, Arandilya,” Elrond gasped forlornly, “We are bereft. But I am glad that you are here with me now . . . so that I do not have to do the things I must do alone . . .”

Glorfindel did not have to guess what it was that Arandil had said to Elrond in reply, because he had overheard it with his own ears. 

“My Healing Heart, we will manage somehow, I know. You will not be alone. We of my family are with you, and your Lady and her family too. We will make something of this. Something that can bear the future and honor the past. You are not alone.” 

Elrond gave a trembling sigh, “I am not alone,” he repeated, like it was a shield against the darkness. Then he quieted, his eyes closed again, and at last he fell into a more peaceful, genuine sleep. 

Glorfindel heaved a sigh of relief, and laid down beside Elrond on the bed, the better to wake if the fever returned. Glorfindel must have drifted onto the path of dreams himself, because he awoke to a knock on the door.

Whoever-it-was let himself in. Glorfindel pulled a knife into his hand as the shadow approached the bed, and only at the last moment pulled his thrust when he realized who it was.

"Arandil, you thrice-cursed idiot! I could have killed you!" He snarled at Aran Ereinion Gil-galad's blood-brother and most trusted diplomat. Since Gil-galad's death, Arandil had become Elrond's diplomat as well as his sworn-elf. But Glorfindel hadn't even known that Arandil was anywhere in the area.

Arandil just smirked back at him. It made Glorfindel really want to yell at the slender, graceful dark-haired elf, then send him to run laps around Imladris until even his energy was exhausted. 

"Calm yourself, oh great hero." Arandil greeted him sarcastically, before leaning over Glorfindel's shoulder to look worriedly at Elrond. 

Then Arandil sighed in relief, "Praise Eru and all the Valar, he looks like the illness has past, and restoring sleep come at last." Glancing at Glorfindel sympathetically out of his big, brown eyes, Arandil offered, "No wonder you look so poleaxed that you couldn't even intercept me until I was right above you, my dear Sir. This is not the type of balrog which you know how to slay."

"Never mind that." Glorfindel growled, because it was true and also because he didn't know where Arandil was going with it, "What in Mordor's fires are you DOING here, Arandil?"

Arandil sat down on the chair Glorfindel had vacated. As Elrond slept on, he explained, "Elain and I met Elrond here."

"WHAT?" Glorfindel yelled, in his loudest whisper. "You SAW him here, and you JUST LET HIM STAY?!"

Arandil merely raised an eyebrow, waiting for the Balrog-slayer's initial fit of temper to pass.

"I suppose," Glorfindel said grudgingly, after a long moment, "That you had a good reason."

"Yes, THANK YOU, Captain, I did." Arandil replied, "He'd already been exposed by the time we arrived. Elain said that it would be pointless to remove him."

Glorfindel nodded, "Well, Elain's judgment I trust."

Arandil didn't rise to the bait. Arandil was annoying like that. Instead, the diplomat, Ereinion's former ambassador to Eregion, simply said, "I trust it too. She is a wise elleth, my wife. She is serving with the Lothlorien healers in the plague-ridden village furthest from this one, as Elrond trusted her judgment as healer the most. I was sent on an errand to . . . lands south of here, to fetch more medicines."

Glorfindel gave Arandil a narrow look, "WHERE south of here? What medicines?"

"As to the first," Arandil said with a big grin, "You don't want to know. As to the second, Moringa seeds and . . . something else. Tell me, how have the moringa seeds and the other medicine worked? How many have died?"

Distracted, Glorfindel answered, "Too many. Perhaps as many as three in ten, with the others recovering, but slowly."

Arandil shook his head. "That few." He remarked, seeming both pleased and relieved.

"THAT FEW?" Glorfindel roared back quietly, in disbelief.

"My dear Lord," Arandil explained with quiet intensity, "You should know that this type of plague most often carries off MORE than half of its victims. A death rate of only fifty percent would be lucky. A seventy percent survival rate is very, very good indeed."

"Huh," Glorfindel replied, surprised and appalled. "Well, I suppose that disgusting sludge must be good for something. When it proved more effective than the moringa seeds, Elrond began giving it to everyone strong enough to take it."

Arandil looked a little nauseated, but he nodded, "Well, I brought more ingredients for the foul slurry." An impish smile pulled at the diplomat's fair features, "Do you WANT to know what's in it?"

"They gave it to Elrond," Glorfindel replied dryly, "So, yes."

Arandil shuddered. "Our poor Elrond. Still, if it worked..."

"'It' being?" Glorfindel prompted, running out of patience.

"Dust of the dead," replied Arandil, meeting Glorfindel's eyes to share horror and offer reassurance, "Sulfur and water mixed with the ground-up bones of those who died from this plague the last time it struck."

Glorfindel swallowed hard, looking down at the peacefully sleeping Elrond to remind himself that he had been right to help Healer Belegur make Elrond swallow that. 

A gentle hand squeezed his shoulder, and Arandil offered, "It was Elrond who insisted that the midwives' old folktales might have some truth to them, and who thought to try this. And if so many lives have been saved...."

The balrog-slayer reached up with his hand to cover Arandil's, his eyes still blurry with tears of worry. "Aye," Glorfindel said, not afraid to show weakness in front of Arandil. 

Then Glorfindel used that leverage to quietly and efficiently flip Arandil over his shoulder, carefully guiding the younger elf's fall so that he ended up lying beside Elrond in the bed.

"You stay with him," Glorfindel commanded, "When he wakes from foul dreams and sees me, he thinks me his father. But when he wakes and hears me only, he thinks that I am you. And he is well content to have his childhood tutor-and-guard caring for him."

Arandil nodded back in acceptance, his face grave at the importance of the charge. "I will watch over him," Arandil promised.

"I know that you will," Glorfindel replied, bending down to press a fatherly kiss first to Elrond's brow, and then to Arandil's.

Early the next morning, Elrond was feeling well enough to eat breakfast and agitate for returning to his duties in the healer's tent. Arandil and Glorfindel took it in turns to discourage him, although they did allow the other healers to come in ones and twos, and ask Elrond questions. 

Arandil had to leave when the sun rose in truth, in order to take more of the moringa seeds and old bones to the other two plague-stricken villages. Glorfindel left Elrond in Sendoron's care, and went to bid the diplomat farewell and fair journey.

Glorfindel personally had a word with Arandil's guards and companions, before turning to Arandil and embracing the younger elf in a hard hug.

"You take good care of my son," he whispered into Arandil's ear, too soft for anyone else to hear.

Arandil made a huff of protest at being picked up by the Balrog-Slayer as if he were a toy, but then returned the hug full-force as he replied, "I will try, but your son is a difficult fool, my Lord."

Glorfindel laughed and put Arandil down. *Only sometimes a fool,* he spoke directly into Arandil's mind, *And only when he takes after his father. I love you, my difficult fool. Be careful.*

The Balrog-Slayer couldn’t stop himself from watching until Arandil, who had been born Glorendil Glorfindelchil of Gondolin, had ridden out of sight, and his guards along with him. It was always hard for Glorfindel to part company with his dearly beloved and stubborn offspring. It had been ever since their last day in Gondolin. That particular parting had lasted for almost 2,000 years.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Glorfindel is neither surprised nor happy with Elrond’s actions, and he and Elrond have (another) disagreement. And then a confrontation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote(s): 
> 
> “Family quarrels have a total bitterness unmatched by others. Yet it sometimes happens that they also have a kind of tang, a pleasantness beneath the unpleasantness, based on the tacit understanding that this is not for keeps; that any limb you climb out on will still be there later for you to climb back.” - Mignon McLaughlin

After the departure of Arandil and his retinue, Glorfindel went to the healing tents, hoping that he would be wrong. Hoping that Elrond had stayed with Sendoron in his room, as Glorfindel and common sense had dictated.

But no, of course not. Glorfindel was hardly ever wrong when he wanted to be. He gave Sendoron, who was hovering sheepishly behind Elrond, a disgusted look.

Sendoron grimaced. "Lord Elrond is very persuasive,” he complained.

Elrond himself hadn't bothered to acknowledge Glorfindel's presence, although he was undoubtedly aware of it. Elrond continued prescribing the next steps in the course of treatment for the little girl Merilwen. 

Glorfindel waited for Elrond to finish that, then grasped his young Lord by both shoulders when Elrond began to move towards his next patient.

"No, Elrond," Glorfindel said, with what he thought was impressive calm and patience. "You will rest today."

Elrond twisted out of Glorfindel's grasp, "No, my faithful Glorfindel, I will not. You are loyal to your charge, but I am loyal to mine as well."

Glorfindel closed his eyes and counted to ten, as his grandson Erestor had patiently encouraged him to try for many years. Then he grabbed Elrond, and slung the Peredhel over his shoulder. 

During the blessed few moments while Elrond was still and silent with shock, Glorfindel commanded Healer Belegur, "If you REALLY need my Lord's counsel, you may find him in his room at the Inn. Try not to need him for at least the next two hours."

Belegur nodded, for once intimidated, and stammered out, "Yes, of course, Lord Glorfindel."

"Glorfindel," Elrond growled, too angry and frustrated to be trepidatious at how far he’d pushed his senior retainer, "I am your sworn Lord, and you will PUT ME DOWN immediately!"

"Ha!" Glorfindel replied, hitching Elrond higher onto his shoulder, “Look here, grandson-of-my-heart, I know that you don’t like to hear this, but I promised your parents and your grandparents and your great-great-great-Uncle Finarfin, who is your High-King in Aman, that I would take care of you. Even if it means defying you.” 

“If my own lost King was forced to the extreme of extortion to keep me from fulfilling my healer’s oath in circumstances like this,” Elrond retorted hotly, as his stomach muscles tensing as if he might contort away, “then what in Arda makes you think I would care about the directions of a Middle Earth short-timer whom I haven’t seen in over an Age!” 

“You don’t have to care, my dear young Lord,” Glorfindel replied with dire patience, “Because I do.” 

At Elrond’s muttered oath, Glorfindel advised softly, "I would not push me any further right now, Elrond, if I were you."

To Glorfindel's relief, Elrond went limp, letting himself be carried. But that was only temporary; Elrond had been Glorfindel's student for nearly two thousand years, and he knew how to wait for his moment. When 

Glorfindel was adjusting his balance to step over the threshold of the Inn, Elrond elbowed him in the stomach, hard, and used the momentum from that to roll off of Glorfindel's shoulder.

Fortunately for his solar plexus, Glorfindel had been expecting something like that. He was even rather pleased with the effort Elrond had managed to put forth, despite still being weak and unsteady on his feet. 

But he'd tell Elrond that later. Right now, he just faced the Peredhel across from him. Glorfindel met Elrond's fiery gray eyes, and just raised a single eyebrow.

"Is that really the best you can do, Hir Dithen Nin?" Glorfindel taunted. 

Elrond sniffed haughtily and tried to go around the Balrog-Slayer, but Glorfindel simply grabbed his Lord about the shoulders and hefted Elrond back over his shoulders. 

*This time, guren, I suggest you come quietly.* he spoke directly into Elrond's mind, *Else I shall begin your scolding right here and now. I think that you would prefer to avoid that. The common room is empty now, but it might not stay that way.*

At that, Elrond stayed still at last, although Glorfindel could tell that he was still unhappy. When they got back to the chamber Glorfindel had claimed as Elrond's, he set his young Lord down on the bed and removed Elrond's boots, tossing them into the hallway for Sendoron to pick up and put somewhere where Elrond couldn't get to them easily.

Elrond watched those proceedings unhappily, but he did not make much protest to Glorfindel stripping him down to his small clothes and under shirt. 

"Now that I finally have your attention, my Lord," Glorfindel said wryly, tilting Elrond’s chin up with one gentle finger, “I want you to rest, as you were bade. I can tell by the circles under your eyes that you are tired.” 

“People will die tonight.” 

“I know, Elrondya,” Glorfindel replied with sorrow-laden tenderness as he placed his broad palm on Elrond’s chest and forced him to lie down, “But they will die whether you sleep or not, and I will not let you return. Nor would you hurt me as much as you’d need to, to prevent me keeping you here. Sleep now, grandson-of-my heart.” 

Deprived of both arguments and energy, Elrond quickly obeyed despite himself. Glorfindel waited until his charge was asleep in truth, then he Elrond’s tunic, robe, and leggings, and then the rest of the clothing in his Lord’s travel bags, and tossed them into the hall way for Sendoron to pick up and move into his nearby room. If all of Glorfindel, Celeborn, Galadriel, and Celebrian hadn’t been able to stop Elrond from coming here to heal, then being barefoot and clad in nothing more than silk undergarments probably wouldn’t stop Elrond, either. But it might at least slow him down.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plague begins to subside. Elrond and Glorfindel begin to sort out the arguments they had put aside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote(s): 
> 
> “When you choose an action, you choose the consequences of that action. When you desire a consequence you had damned well better take the action that would create it.” ― Lois McMaster Bujold

At Glorfindel's insistence, Elrond did not return to the healers' tents until the following morning. During the night, another nine patients died. The little girl Merilwen was one of them. Glorfindel could read the pain in his Lord's heart, but Elrond kept going, following his calling and caring for the living as well as he could.

"I'm sorry." Glorfindel said, when he chivied Elrond to his room for lunch and a nap. Glorfindel knew that, if Elrond had stayed through the night, the girl at least, and perhaps two of the others, might have lived. Of course, in working through the night, Elrond might have taken sick again. But that was a risk which Glorfindel knew that Elrond would have been willing to take.

Elrond sighed and said with sad resignation, "You did what you did out of care for me, dear friend. I mourn the deaths, but I do not resent you for having acted in adherence to your calling." 

They exchanged a very sad smile. Glorfindel, who did not mind looking the sentimental fool for a worthwhile cause, reached out to embrace Elrond, holding his young Lord tight against his chest.

Sometimes, Elrond responded to such displays of affection by pulling away, or by staying rigidly uncomfortable. But this time he just relaxed against his long-time retainer, mentor, guard and friend. "I wish there was a way to save them all," Elrond murmured quietly, "especially the children. No matter how long it has been, whenever I lose one of them, I think of my twin and his children."

Glorfindel just held his young Lord closer, and pressed a fatherly kiss to the top of Elrond's raven-dark hair, “You've lost less than thirty percent of the Men who lived in this village, Elrond-my-heart. Arandil tells me that is a victory, and I believe him. You cannot save every patient."

Elrond just nodded, and Glorfindel could only hope that he believed. Elrond remained in the village another several days, seeing to the remaining sick. Only when all were recovering did Glorfindel suggest that they depart. Elrond agreed, leaving Healer Belegur in charge of their remaining patients.

The Lord of Imladris consented to ride with his Captain part of the way back to Lothlorien. When they stopped to water the horses and fix a cold lunch, Elrond followed Glorfindel a small way into the forest. They stopped near a waterfall and a ring of trees, where the noise that nature provided would be enough to deaden even a shout.

"You wanted to have this conversation earlier, Elrond my young Lord," Glorfindel began, a stern expression on his face, "and I give you credit for that. But now I deem you well enough. Explain."

"Glorfindel . . . I know," Elrond began, "I know that I wronged you."

"Wronged me?" Glorfindel replied, his voice rising into a roar, "I am your retainer, Elrond! Your sworn elf. And yet you drugged me, and left me to wake with strangers. Just so that you could go where you willed. Yes, YOU WRONGED ME!"

Elrond sighed, not contesting anything in that litany of his misdeeds. "It was only a harmless sedative, Glorfindel. And at least this time I took the rest of my guards with me."

"Oh, yes, my little Lord. You took only those you could command to do your bidding at the risk of your life!" Glorfindel countered in a dangerous tone of voice.

Elrond paused, and after a moment answered simply, "Yes."

Glorfindel pressed, "And you lied to your own royal Uncle, Aunt, and cousins. And to their soldiers as well as your own -my own- soldiers, about where you had left me."

"Yes. I owe you, owe all of you, for that." Elrond agreed, looking pained.

Glorfindel threw his hands up in the air in frustration, "And yet you would still do what you did again. You are not sorry for that, only for the wrongs you had to do to we who love you and watch over you, in order to meet your ends."

Elrond sighed, "What do you want me to say, Glorfindel? I don't want to lie to you."

Glorfindel put his hands down, and took a deep breath. Then he spoke intently, "Elrond, I was your great-grandfather Turgon's good friend and blood-brother. I carried your grandmother Idril across the ice, held safe in my own arms. Later, my wife Laureamoriel taught Idril to dance, and I taught her to fight. When your human grandfather Tuor came to Gondolin, and I saw my Idril fall in love with him, I spoke for them. My son Glorendil and I carried your baby father Earendil around Gondolin in a baby sack while your grandparents slept. I fought a balrog to save your father and grandparents. I was reborn, and left my life as a reborn elf to come back here and guard you. AND YET YOU TREAT ME LIKE THIS! Elrond, HOW COULD YOU!” 

Elrond was clearly apologetic, but he held his ground. "I am sorry for treating you so poorly, my dear Glorfindel. But you must realize - I never asked for this! For any of this. I never asked to be me, to be part-human and a little bit Maia, to be a great King's heir or a great Lord or a great leader. I just wanted to be a healer! You and everyone else want to preserve me so that I can be the great leader, the great Lord. Maybe I just want to be Elrond, the healer."

Taking another calming breath, Glorfindel replied, "Ai, my dear Elrond. You are my heart, you must know that. I won't lie and tell you that preserving your life isn't important to me from a political and military standpoint. I've been fighting the enemy since before you were a twinkle in your grandfather's eyes, and I'm fairly dedicated to his destruction. But never mistake this, Elrond. I don't want you to live because you are a great Lord and in being so you protect thousands of lives. No, I want you to live - my primary reason for wanting you to live - is that I love you. And I care about you. AND I DON'T WANT YOU TO DIE!"

"Oh," Said Elrond quietly, clearly taken aback.

Since his Lord was actually listening, Glorfindel continued, "I love you like another grandson, Elrond you idiot. And in this instance, I would treat you like one."

Elrond could have objected. He had, in certain rare instances in the past. Elrond was Glorfindel's Lord, and Glorfindel's only right to discipline Elrond rested on Elrond's esteem for Glorfindel as elder, mentor, and guard. There had been past times where Elrond had denied Glorfindel's right to rein him in, and Glorfindel had accepted that denial. Sometimes, after both parties had calmed down, Glorfindel had been glad that Elrond had stayed his hand. Other times, Elrond had returned to apologize and accept a punishment, if Glorfindel was still minded to impose one. In addition to being Glorfindel's grandson of the heart and his reason for returning to Middle Earth, Elrond was a good Lord, a responsible Lord. He did not hold others to higher standards than he held himself, which Glorfindel had appreciated on the rare occasions when he had erred such that Elrond had called him to account.

But in this instance, Elrond did not object. He merely sighed, and answered unhappily but firmly, “I am at your disposal then, my friend and teacher.” 

“Your humble bravery does you credit, Elrond-my-heart,” Glorfindel praised quietly, before resuming his fiery glare and stating baldly, “If you were an officer of mine, and you had endangered our Lord as horribly as you endangered yourself, then I would demote you. Aye, and have you running drills until you fell down. If you were one of your own lord councilors and you had put our ruling Lord thus in jeopardy, I would ask that you be suspended from your position and set to serve me for a time.” 

“Ereinion would have been entirely sympathetic to your current predicament,” Elrond told him with a sad, wry smile, “As it is, I take your point. I will submit to whatsoever penalties you deem a fitting answer to my misdeeds.” 

Glorfindel fought the urge to soften his stern expression at the mention of Ereinion Gil-galad, whose absence still ached for him as well. Elrond’s older brother in all but blood had, on rare occasions, sentenced his heir to such stern punishments. Although few had known of them, given Elrond’s exalted rank since birth and the need to protect his dignity. Which perhaps was part of the problem, as an Elrond whose dignity had been offended might have learned better care for his own skin, and been less willing to use deceit in the extreme of willfulness. 

Ereinion, however, had complained that the most intimidating punishments made no more impact on Elrond than they did on Glorendil. For which the King had somehow implied that Glorfindel had only himself to blame – in both the case of Glorendil (now called Arandil), and in the case of Elrond, whom Arandil had helped to raise. 

Glorfindel himself, on the other hand, thought it was more likely native stubborn dedication to duty on the part of Elrond, who came by that trait naturally by way of his heritage as one of Turgon’s scions. And, really, would Glorfindel even want to serve a Lord who was not willing to put himself in danger of severe consequences to do what he thought necessary in order to save innocent lives in the following of his calling? 

None of which was going to save Elrond from a punishing training regimen for the foreseeable future. 

“For a start, you will not miss a single arms practice – morning or evening – unless you are actually required to be physically elsewhere,” Glorfindel began sternly, “That will last until I am satisfied that you’ve learned a lesson from this.” 

“It will be as you ask,” Elrond agreed humbly. 

“Do you remember what I told you once, about the level of skill I expect from you before I will be satisfied?” Glorfindel queried. 

“You want me to be matchless, my faithful friend, which I am afraid is a level of martial skill it is impossible to attain.” 

“We will have to see what happens once you apply yourself fully to satisfying my demands for the time and energy you shall apply to honing your fighting skills,” Glorfindel answered cheerfully, already designing drills to push Elrond to his limits in his mind. 

“That sounds . . . highly demanding,” Elrond acknowledged, with a wince. 

“You need a distraction from all of your new duties,” Glorfindel riposted heartlessly. 

Elrond gave Glorfindel a rueful look and remarked, "I'd forgotten how blasted much I always end up regretting it after I push you too far."

Glorfindel smirked, but he knew that there was a glint of sympathy in his eyes as he replied, "It has been rather a long time since I insisted you do things my way, eh, Elrond?" 

That thought gave Glorfindel pause. It had been a long time since he had found cause to reprimand Elrond AT ALL, let alone in the midst of a long ride. Elrond had never been a mischievous or difficult being, but he had . . . he had been thoughtless, sometimes. And reckless, at times. And sometimes, after getting caught out at being thoughtless or reckless, he'd been a bit cheeky or irreverent. But now, since even before the war, Elrond had become so careful that it was almost eerie. Oh, sometimes he might enter an engagement DIFFERENTLY from how Glorfindel would have, but Elrond was a different elf. And reviewing his decisions later, the Balrog-Slayer had found little to truly fault in them. 

Glorfindel contemplated Elrond intently, and his heart ached as he realized that Elrond's youth, his very self, had been worn away by the cares of his duties. The thoughtlessness, the recklessness, the cheeky irreverence, it had all been PART of Elrond. Part of the spark that lit his solemn personality from within, the spark that had first made Glorfindel realize that they could be friends as well as Lord and Guard. Now that spark was gone, consumed by duty and the needs of others, and that bloody cursed ring that Elrond would bear until Sauron was gone in truth.

Elrond, who hadn't been paying attention to Glorfindel's moment of revelation, actually relieved some of the Balrog-Slayer's worries, by asking with a trace of that old cheekiness, "Yes, it has been a long time since you've lectured me like that. I am very repentant. Perhaps you would not mind if we wait until we return to Imladris to begin my new training regimen?” Elrond asked appealingly, gray eyes wide.

Chuckling, part in relief and part in dark amusement (he was still annoyed with Elrond), Glorfindel, leaned back against a tree and smirked at Elrond, "Yes, yes I would mind, my stubborn little lord. You have more than earned my wrath, and we will commence with dawn drills tomorrow morning. You're just lucky that you're still too shaky and us too far from our destination to begin now."

"So lucky," Elrond murmured, sotto voce. 

Glorfindel ignored it except to collect his Lord with an arm around Elrond's shoulders, and guide him back to the horses.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glorfindel grows more determined to protect Elrond’s happiness. Even if that means letting go of his anger over being left behind when Elrond put himself in danger by going to heal plague victims.

They stopped several more times during the journey back to Caras Galadhon, ostensibly because Lord Elrond's horse might have gotten a stone bruise, but really so that the still-healing Elrond could have a break.   
Still riding double before Glorfindel, Elrond dozed on and off throughout the sunny afternoon. Soon, they rode under the shelter of the furthest out golden-leaved mallorn trees of Elrond’s cousin’s kingdom of Lorien. 

Glorfindel watched Elrond wake and look up with a faint smile just as the Balrog-Slayer dimly felt the edges of an intricate and complicated silent communion between Elrond and his Aunt Galadriel. The relationship between the two ringbearers – nephew and aunt – was affectionate, but also, well, intricate and complicated. Glorfindel still did not fully understand everything that Elrond and Galadriel were to one another, but he was glad that Elrond did not have to walk all of the paths of power he must walk alone. 

A half hour later, there was a dazed, bright grin on Elrond’s face, which Glorfindel knew meant he was close enough to speak with Celebrian mind-to-mind. That was soon followed by an expression which was both fond and abashed, which Glorfindel supposed meant that Elrond’s Uncle Celeborn and his party had also returned to Caras Galadhon. 

Despite how sore and still weak Elrond was, he insisted on observing proper protocol for returning from a plague site. Their party stopped at a barracks outside Caras Galadhon in order to dispose of clothing and other replaceable belongings (which would probably be burned), and for bodies and everything that wasn’t replaceable to be scrubbed thoroughly. 

Elrond’s Uncle Celeborn met them there, with only Brombellas as escort. 

“Halt, Uncle!” Elrond warned, “If you come closer than six feet, you’ll need to wash with the same harsh disinfectant soap that we’re to use before our return.” 

“It is more than worth that to give you greeting, nephew-mine,” Celeborn answered, dismounting as Elrond did and pulling his younger kinsman into a firm embrace, “I cannot tell you how relieved I am to find you already well on your way to recovery.” 

An hour later when they rode into the tree-lined golden glory of Caras Galadhon, they did so in semi-formal fashion. Elrond and Celeborn rode together near the head of the column, with only Brombellas, Caradhon, and Elrond’s standard-bearer before them. Elrond betrayed no weakness. Those elves of Lothlorien who had been residents of Eregion, and Lindon and Gondolin before her, still looked to him for leadership after Galadriel and Celeborn. 

When they arrived at last at the talan of Elrond's aunt and uncle, Celebrian flew out of the door like an arrow, directly into Elrond's arms. What they said to another Glorfindel did not know, but it was several long minutes before they separated enough for Elrond to give his aunt greeting, and then his cousin Amroth and newly adopted elfling cousins Haldir, Orophin, and Rumil. 

Seeing Elrond and Celebrian together made Glorfindel realize that the last time he'd seen Elrond truly happy had been with Celebrian. The Balrog-Slayer resolved to put more effort into effecting a reconciliation between the two of them. Making Elrond sincerely regret his actions in ditching Glorfindel to go risk his life playing healer was no longer the Captain's first priority. Now it was saving that spark in Elrond which had lent joy as well as duty to the Peredhel's heart.

Galadriel and Celeborn gave Elrond leave to rest, that first night after they returned from Caras Galadhon. Glorfindel lay beside Elrond in his Lord's large bed. Sadly Celebrian was not keeping Elrond company, and Glorfindel did not want his Lord to be alone. Particularly not in Lothlorien, where ghosts still walked the halls of the royal talan. It made Glorfindel realize how alone Elrond was, and young King Amroth as well. Amroth's father Amdir, Elrond's uncle, had died during the War. As had their second cousin Oropher, the father of young King Thranduil of the Greenwood. For a while, Elrond had feared that they would lose his great Uncle Celeborn, as well, and with him several of his long-time retainers. Galadriel would have remained, ring-bearer that she was. But the duty would have eaten at her heart without Celeborn's love, as it was eating at Elrond’s heart even now.

For Celeborn, along had come three orphans in need. Celeborn had always wanted more children. Haldir, Orophin, and Rumil, as well as Celeborn's duties to his beloved younger kinsmen the Kings of Lothlorien and Greenwood and the Lord of Imladris, had helped to anchor him to this time and place.

Elrond interrupted Glorfindel's line of thought by nudging his ankle with a foot, "So, when are you going to lecture me again?" 

His young Lord's tone was more tired than anything else, and that bothered Glorfindel.

Frowning worriedly, Glorfindel rose up on an elbow so that he could look Elrond in the eyes as he replied, "I don't know as I am at all, my dear young one."

"What?" Replied Elrond, blinking in surprise. Not even relief, just surprise. 

Glorfindel cursed himself for a blind fool. He'd been looking out for his Lord's physical safety, and all the while something inside Elrond was dying and Glorfindel had been completely unaware. Some guardian he was. Finrod and Earendil would both have been very disappointed. 

Glorfindel reached out a hand to gently push a strand of hair back behind Elrond's half-pointy ear, "I don't know as you need another lecture, Elrond-my-heart. I'm not saying that you haven't earned one, but I'm your heart-kin before I'm your Captain, save when there is an immediate physical threat to your safety. And I think that this is one of those times when I must give you what you need, rather than what you have earned."

"Um," Elrond replied, gray eyes blinking in confusion, which he tried rather credibly to turn into indulgent bemusement, "What do I need then, oh my most faithful teacher and retainer?"

Glorfindel sat up cross-legged on the bed, prompting Elrond to sit up too, so that he could look Glorfindel in the face. 

"I think you need to spend more time in the company of people whom you love, my dear one," Glorfindel answered softly, "and not while planning for war, or for keeping the peace. Just enjoying their company."

"That is a nice idea," Elrond replied with a wistful smile, "But there really isn't the time. Uncle Celebon will want to tear a bloody strip out of me for scaring him, and probably Aunt Galadriel will have words for me as well. I'll need to finish the business of state which was our purpose in coming here, with them and with Amroth and Celebrian, and then we must bid our goodbyes and return to Imladris."

"We will make the time." Glorfindel replied, his tone soft and loving but completely inflexible. "When we get home, you and I will talk with Arandil, and with Erestor, about all of this. We will help you to feel less burdened, Elrond. That is what you need, and you must trust us to know it and help you, even if you do not understand. That is what I would ask of you, in lieu of lecturing you again. That is what I would ask of you, in exchange for my forgiving you for drugging me and leaving me behind." 

Elrond still didn't understand, but he nodded slowly in agreement. "I will try," he promised.

Glorfindel pulled his young Lord into his arms, laughing, "You will try, my stubborn and difficult lordling. You will try, indeed. Such a careful promise. You have been and always will be no end of trouble for me, Elrond-my-heart. But I would not trade any of the time I've spent with you and yours, not for anything in Middle Earth or Aman."

Elrond's dark head relaxed against Glorfindel's shoulder, "You're going soft in your dotage, vorondanya," Elrond accused fondly.

Pleased by the teasing, Glorfindel just tugged on a dark braid. "Not soft, not exactly, Elrond guren. If you'll remember, Erestor made that promise, never to drug me and leave me behind again, for both of you. You know that he did, and he may have words of his own for you, when we get home."

Glorfindel had carefully laid them both down on the pillows, Elrond still curled against him on his side. 

"He will," Elrond agreed, "Erestor sees such matters differently than I."

But despite that concern, Glorfindel could tell that Elrond was more relaxed now, still tired but no longer quite so heart-weary. And Glorfindel resolved that he, Arandil, and Erestor would have to work harder at finding ways to support Elrond-their-friend, as well as just protecting and serving Elrond-their-Lord. Of course, Arandil, blast him, was likely already aware of this. 

Aye, and Erestor, too. In fact, that might have been what Erestor meant when he had told Glorfindel, "Grandfather, look out for Elrond. No, not just like you always do. Take care of him."  
Erestor was often smarter than Glorfindel. He took after his grandmother Laureamoriel, after all.

There was no one Glorfindel would trust to aid him in helping Elrond more than Arandil and Erestor, and wasn’t that a fine thing for an elf to be able to say of his son and grandson? And there was no lord on   
Middle Earth whom Glorfindel would rather serve than Elrond. Which was a fine thing to be able to say of one’s lord, as well. 

Glorfindel loved both his King Turgon and his King Finrod dearly, and always would. But, as a ruler of his own demesne, Glorfindel had to give his young Lord this. Elrond was wiser than Turgon, and more determined than Finrod. With the gifted and clever Celebrian at Elrond’s side, Glorfindel was very interested indeed to see what Imladris could become during this Third Age.


End file.
